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Moonshine kills
Atlanta TV stations seemed inclined to treat it that way. Four degenerate mountain men from up in north Georgia, dressed for the occasion in dirty overalls and torn shirts, camo-caps pulled low over their beady eyes, arrested earlier this month by federal agents for "moonshining." Just something else to prove that though the South isn't what it used to be, in some places it still is. Press reports noted that though distilling illegal whiskey is no longer as popular and profitable as it once was, distilling still is being done. In 2005, Georgia and federal agents broke up two stills. Last year they found and destroyed four. Which raises the obvious question: With legal liquor readily available in most counties (and within a short drive in others), why do people still make the stuff and why do folks still buy it and drink it? Those who study these things note that rural Southerners have long considered whiskey-making a natural, indeed acceptable, way to turn corn into a commodity that will bring in more money than the grain itself. Whiskey-making was, and in some places still is, an industry where no other industry existed. Marketing it represented a form of country capitalism that helped poor folks survive. The fact that state and federal law prohibited it appealed to anti-authority attitudes common among country folks - people who believe, as one writer put it, "that nothing living could cross them and get away with it." Even, especially, the government. The government's position is simple enough. People may brew beer or make wine as a hobby, but distilling is a business that is taxed. Don't pay the tax and you go to jail. Which is what the agents have accused the boys in north Georgia of doing - or, more specifically, of not doing. But one might argue that the little bit of tax those boys aren't paying is nothing when compared to the millions of dollars the rich and famous avoid paying every year and that time spent on hunting out the stills is time wasted. Yes, one might argue that if it weren't for what besides whiskey is in the whiskey. Traditionally, moonshiners have often added a little something to the mix to give their product a distinct flavor. Horseshoes for iron. Snake heads for bite. Down in south Alabama a little community was named "Cat Mash" in memory of the kitty that fell into an open kettle and was not discovered until after that batch was run off and the leavings poured out. Those who drank it said it was the best yet. However, the real problem comes when the distiller won't go to the expense to get a good copper coil to cool the steam and uses a car radiator instead. Lead from the radiator gets into the whiskey and the result can be crippling - or even deadly. Back during prohibition, and even later in "dry" counties, stories were told of locals who got a bad bottle and ended up with "jake-leg" (or "jackleg") and were limped for life. In some counties leaded whiskey was so dangerous that local health officials began a "moonshine kills" campaign, complete with billboards showing a silhouetted cartoon corpse holding a daisy - or maybe it was a lily. Yet all the dangers notwithstanding, some folks continued to prefer moonshine to bonded, even when it is more expensive - which today it generally is. So revenue agents continue to scour the countryside, protecting the public health and seeing that what is due Caesar is rendered. And a few good-ol' boys continue to do what they have always done. Like the four in north Georgia.
This was an editor's notebook piece that Hardy Jackson wrote for the Anniston Star.'s editorial page. Jackson, a professor of history at Jacksonville State University, grew up in Grove Hill.
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